Visions
by BackForBreakfast
Summary: My first RD fic! Set during series 3, basically as an additional episode (hence the episode-esque title). Rimmer sees an alien craft whilst inspecting the ship, but when the others head after him, things aren't quite what they seem...
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: None of the characters/places etc. in this fic belong to me. I am making no profit with this story.

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first Red Dwarf fanfiction, and I hope you enjoy it! I've always been a big fan of Red Dwarf, and I thought I'd write a little something based on it. :D It's set in series 3, and is basically an extra "episode" from that series, hence the episode-esque title. Series 3 has to be my favourite series, so I chose to set it then. ;) This is based on the TV series rather than the books, as I haven't read the books (though I really do want to!) So some facts and figures may be a bit off. I also may have changed a few of the workings to make them fit with the plot of this story. But I hope you enjoy reading it!

I'll probably post this in two chapters to divide the story into two half-episode sections. So without further ado, here is the first half!

Please RR! All reviews are appreciated!

**-Visions-**

**A Red Dwarf Fan Fiction**

Arnold Rimmer had been up for hours. Sat at the table in his bunkroom, he had already run out of things to do. He had completed his morning exercises, inspected the supplies (including totalling the number of irradiated haggis), and checked on the skutters. He gazed blankly at his hat, which rested in front of him. Embellished on it was a large, silver "H". His lips arched into a frown.

Had he ever thought, standing there watching George MacIntyre giving his speech…had he ever thought it would one day happen to _him_? _No – of course not_, he thought to himself, narrowing his eyes. _People don't think about those sorts of things_. Perhaps he had even been glad, almost happy for him. He gritted his teeth. A second chance at life, the chance to live on, to perhaps rectify some of the wrongs and misdoings that every person wishes they had a chance to change. _But now, _he thought, his spirit sinking, _I don't have that opportunity. My death is just as my life once was – worthless._ Once again, he knew had been given the short end of the stick. What would have been a wondrous opportunity for others was, for him, merely a way to waste his time, to while away his existence in the constant delusion that he could have made _better_ of his life.

Sat beside Rimmer was his crewmate, Dave Lister, the last human being in the universe, and hardly the pinnacle of personal hygiene. His boots were propped up on the table, and he was enjoying a ship-issue curry. His fork delved into the container in search of another chunk of meat. Rimmer eyed the food. He longed to be able to touch. But even the drive of the possibility of aliens, aliens who could give him a new body, restore his senses to their original heights – even that had now grown stale. He had been to the Observation Dome enough to know what he would see; countless stars, pinpricks of light penetrating the eternal blackness of space, and nothing more. No alien craft, no planets inhabited by a race of advanced and superior creatures, nothing. And this made him feel enormously alone.

"Do you know how long I was with the company?" said Rimmer, his fist slowly clenching into a ball. Lister turned to face him. A trickle of madras sauce ran from his lip, and dripped in great dollops from his chin into the remainder of the curry. Noticing this, he hastily wiped it away with his arm. Rimmer looked disgusted.

"Yeah, I know, Rimmer," replied Lister, sighing. He knew perfectly well…and he knew what was coming next.

"I'll tell you," Rimmer said, seemingly ignoring Lister's answer. "Fifteen years." He paused for a moment, his face twisting into its usual, sour grimace. "Fifteen _years_," he repeated, anger and frustration erupting in his voice. He motioned loosely to the room around him. "And for what? The chance to be marooned in space with a total slob, a neurotic mechanoid and a man who thinks solar flares are something that come in sizes small to extra large."

Lister picked at the foil container with his fork, chewing irritably. He had heard it all before, and yet Rimmer always seemed to demand an answer. He shovelled another forkful into his mouth.

"Well what do you want me to do about it, Rimmer?" he said, waving his fork at the hologram's face. His voice was laden with sarcasm. After all, what _could_ be done about it? Rimmer thought for a moment. He wrung his hands together and twiddled his thumbs, caught in a vortex of his own bitterness.

"Well quite frankly, nothing," he muttered. "I'd rather trust the judgment of that curry than listen to your advice." Following Rimmer's gaze, Lister looked down at his meal and impaled another chunk of meat onto his fork.

Repulsed, Rimmer stood from his seat and headed for his bunk. As he lay down, he could just about make out the stark red lettering that read "Officers' Quarters" above the door.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, resting his hands upon his chest, "years ago, those words would have meant something to me. I would have given anything to be here; to live amongst the most respectable, the most honoured men and women on the ship. But now," he turned to Lister once again, his voice turning sour, "now, they only remind me of what I _could_ have achieved. What I could have achieved if I didn't have the wrong smegging parents." Lister looked at him, still chewing, his brow creased in thought.

"Rimmer, maybe you were never _meant_ to be an officer," he said with his mouth full. The hologram raised himself from his bunk, resting his arm against the pillow. Lister continued. "I mean, you're just not cut out for it. You've got less charisma than a stuffed warthog." Rimmer's face twisted into a scowl.

"Well I'm sorry Lister," he scoffed, "but being forced to wear boxing gloves every time I went to sleep at boarding school hardly did anything for my self-esteem." He sat up; he felt far too restless to remain on the bunk. Lister dropped the now-empty foil container onto the table and begun the lengthy process of licking the remnants of the curry from his fingers. Rimmer cringed, unable to watch. Lister was clearly enjoying it.

"It's not all bad, man," he said, inspecting his nails for any scraps that had eluded him. "I mean, we've got digs on the best room here! Surely that counts for something!" Rimmer shot up.

"But that's precisely _it_, Lister! It _doesn't!_" He paced across the room, his eyes ablaze, his hands engaged in a series of wild motions. "Those words," he pointed above the entrance, "are a symbol of _earned_ respect. These were never my quarters." He stopped. "Oh no, these were the quarters of some jumped-up, precocious goit, someone who had never even _heard_ of Io House."

"Look, Rimmer, would you just calm down?" Rimmer's nerves were frayed, Lister knew that much. He tried to change the subject. "Holly's just checking out another part of the ship. You know, making sure it's safe from contamination. I'm gonna go down there later and see if I can find some gear."

Rimmer's only response was a sigh. He returned to his seat at the table and stared blankly at the glistening foil container, paying no real attention to anything aside from his own thoughts. An awkward silence ensued, which made Lister feel especially uncomfortable. Luckily for him, it was quickly broken by the entrance of the Cat.

"Eeeeeeyoooooow!" he screeched, sliding into the room as if on ice. Through his feline ancestry he had acquired a sleek confidence to his movements, never subsiding to clumsiness, every shift of his feet deft and agile. He was wearing a fur-lined coat, with a shimmering vest so reflective that the light of the room seemed to turn it a brilliant gold. Noticing Lister, he gave a toothy grin. "Hey buddy! What's up?" He glanced at Rimmer, who did not look up, and his expression changed to one of confusion. "What's wrong with Goalpost Head?"

Lister motioned to him to be careful. "He's just a bit upset." Cat chose to ignore his warning, as he was often known to do.

"You know what I do when _I'm_ upset?" he said enthusiastically, pointing towards the hologram. Rimmer's glance lifted, although it was clear from his expression that he was not expecting much. "I get as far away from here as possible, that's what _I_ do! The further away from _you _I am, the better!"

"_Cat!_" Lister wailed, rubbing his temple. "Just leave 'im alone, okay?" Cat looked suitably hurt, and he set to adjusting his collar. "Look Rimmer, I'm sorry man," Lister continued, only to be quickly interrupted by a voice from the video screen.

"It's ready, Dave." Their gazes shifted to the monitor as the display vanished to reveal the digitalised face of Holly, the ship's computer.

"What's ready, Hol?" Lister asked impatiently, secretly wishing Holly would describe more specifics when she gave an announcement. The computer appeared not to notice, and continued in her usual droll way.

"The deck," she said. "It's clean. Checked it all through this morning. Kryten's standing by waiting for you now, if you're all set."

"Brutal!" said Lister, with a hint of childish eagerness. He lifted his feet from the table and headed toward the storage rack. "Only this morning? I thought it spanned most of the ship!" He gripped the straps of his backpack and proceeded to heave them over his shoulders. The bag was heavy and unpleasant to carry, but well-padded, for which he was extremely grateful.

"Yeah, it does," Holly replied thoughtfully, "but a number of factors combined to make the job easier." She paused, "Mainly the fact that there's bog-all to do around here."

"Tell Kryten we'll meet him there." Holly nodded, and the screen reverted back to the virtual aquarium display it had previously played. Lister looked to Rimmer, who was still sitting motionless at the table. "You coming?"

He shook his head.

"Well, if you change your mind," said Lister, "we'll be on floor 436. Come on, Cat." He handed over a backpack. Cat examined it meticulously, an expression of disgust on his face.

"You want me to wear _this?_" he said in disbelief. "This thing's so _square_ it makes me _look_ like one!" Lister sighed. He was used to Cat's quirks by now, but in situations like this they never ceased to irritate him. Besides, he was keen to explore the newly-secured deck. That was one benefit of being the only human on board; he had free roam of the entire ship, something he would never have been entitled to as Third Technician. So much of the craft was undiscovered, and with no civilisations in feasible range, the exploration of these decks was a welcome change to the monotony of everyday life.

"Just put it on," Lister replied, taking a bazookoid from the rack. "We'll need 'em to carry all the loot." He strapped the weapon over his shoulder. It never hurt to be prepared.

"Fine," Cat said indignantly. He huffed, and slipped his arms through the thick, silver straps. "But only for the sake of all the _shiny_ things I'm gonna find."

They exited the room, leaving Rimmer alone with his troubled thoughts.

* * *

"Window 143-3PB, floor 65, left-hand side. Rivets in need of repainting."

Rimmer paced along the corridor, followed by a skutter. The blue, mechanical creature carried in its claws a dictopad, through which Rimmer could list the faults of the ship, being unable to write them physically down. That was something he sorely missed. Removing his notepad from his shirt pocket and reporting Lister one more time…the sense of satisfaction it gave him was immeasurable. The sense of _authority_.

Rimmer hated skutters. He had always thought them worthless machines, incapable of performing the simplest of tasks. He was reminded of the time he made them repaint the corridor a different shade of grey. It had taken them an entire hour just to cover an inch. _Useless._

"Come on, keep up," he said irritably, despite the fact that the skutter was almost to his heel. It did him good to maintain an air of control. "We've got fifty more corridors to go." Rimmer knew all too well the pointlessness of this task. There would be nobody to congratulate him on his constant inspection and maintenance of the ship – nobody to come up behind him, pat him on the back and say _"well done, Rimmer"_. He wondered indeed if he had ever heard those words at all.

"Next," Rimmer spoke loudly and clearly in his efforts to sound important, "window 143-3P_C_, slight splitting of the…" He trailed off. His eyes grew wide with excitement.

Through the matter-proof glass he could see a craft.

It shone a vibrant blue, and light glinted in tiny orbs from its round, precision-placed windows. The shape was like none he had ever seen; it was oval-like, with two large, protruding wings on which were mounted the massive engines. _Aliens!_ His mind leapt as he thought of the possibilities. Here perhaps was a chance at his ultimate dream – the dream of a new body, a chance to live again. He considered the time it would take to reach it; an hour, maybe two at most.

Without even stopping to give the skutter further orders, he charged off down the corridor toward the Drive Room.

* * *

Lister rummaged through his backpack. It had been a successful trip, and although it had taken a great few hours, they had found many supplies. He took out a can of beans and studied the label.

"Amazing stuff, this," he said, jabbing at something printed on the side. "Over three million years and it _still_ isn't past its sell-by date. That's packaging for you!" He handed it to Cat, who quickly placed it into the storage cupboard.

"Three million years or not," he replied, "I still wouldn't want to eat this stuff. I don't know how you monkeys do it!" He took the next can and placed it beside the first.

"Well unlike you," Lister said, lifting a pack of Leopard Lager from the bag, "we _do_ eat from all the basic food groups." Ironic really, considering Lister's tastes revolved solely around non-stop curries.

"I got your basic food groups," Cat shot back. "Fish and chicken. Cats don't need any of this _monkey-food_." He grinned a self-important grin, and snatched the lager from Lister's hands.

"Sirs," Kryten piped in, "if I may interrupt, I believe we may have a bit of a problem."

Lister halted in his rummaging, "What is it, Kryte?"

"It's Holly, sir," he replied. "She is not registered as aboard this vessel." It was clear in his voice that he was attempting to sound calm, but a glimmer of worry always managed to break this disguise. Lister wondered if it was his programming - the same circuit that deemed him unable to lie.

"What?" said Lister, clearly confused. His voice then changed, the implications of the scenario slowly setting in, "Well where is she then, man? We can't steer the ship ourselves!"

"Fortunately for us, there is no space traffic in the vicinity," Kryten pointed out. "Nevertheless, this may change. We must recover her as soon as possible."

"Recover her?" Lister repeated. "From where? I mean how do we know where she's gone?" His voice was becoming increasingly frantic.

"I could take a guess, sir," Kryten said. "Given the limited number of places Holly's network is linked to, coupled with the fact that she disappeared so undeniably quickly, I can safely assume that she is now running the Auto-Pilot aboard Starbug 1."

"You can tell just from_ that?_" Cat said in disbelief.

"No, sir," Kryten replied.

"Well how else did you know, Freak-Face?" Cat's voice grew more impatient.

"Starbug is outside the window, sir."

Lister ran to the small, porthole-like window and gazed through. Sure enough, amongst the black nothingness of space was set the green, beetle-like shape of Starbug, its engines glowing as it propelled itself forward. He strained his neck to see to where it was headed, but saw nothing except the endless mass of space and stars.

"Where's she going?" he said. "There's nothing out there, man!" He turned back to face Kryten, hoping for some sort of answer.

"Great," said Cat, rolling his eyes. "She's finally lost it."

"Not quite, sir," Kryten replied. "Holly's programming forbids her to take control of Starbug purely of her own will." He illustrated his point. "Why, if this were not the case, computers everywhere would ditch their mother ships in favour of eloping off on their own adventures in their corporation's scout crafts! No," he continued, "someone _else_ is in control of that ship."

"But that means – _smeg_!" Lister slapped his hand against his forehead, remembering the morning's conversation. "It's Rimmer, man. He's got her on Auto-Pilot since he can't steer Starbug himself." Cat's face suddenly brightened.

"Well then, let's celebrate!" He smiled widely. "First all the shiny things I found, and now Goalpost Head gone, all in one morning! I'd better not take any more naps today in case I miss anything _else_!"

"We've gotta go after 'im," Lister said solemnly, glaring at the Cat - whose face abruptly fell.

"Go after Alphabet Head? Go after a man with nostrils so large they can be used to sharpen _pencils_? _Why_?"

"We've got to," said Lister, putting on his jacket. He motioned to Kryten. "Come on. Let's load up Blue Midget."

* * *

Rimmer had kept his eyes focused on the alien craft. It seemed to have stopped. _Perhaps they've seen us_, he thought, his eyes starry with hope. _Perhaps they're waiting to make contact. _He looked to the monitor. "Holly, take us out."

"But Arn-" Holly protested, only to be cut short by Rimmer's harsh retort.

"Holly, stop your gibbering," he snapped. "_I'm_ in charge here. Now take us out." Holly sighed, knowing it was no use to argue. She powered up the engines and opened the cargo bay doors. Rimmer rubbed his hands together in anticipation as the alien craft came into view. There it was, majestic and dominating, a sign of everything he had ever hoped to see.

"Arn, there's something you should know," Holly warned again, as Starbug powered out into the great vacuum of space. Rimmer took no notice; he was too engrossed in watching the ship's radar. It would only be a matter of time before the alien craft registered on the equipment. He sat back, satisfied. Perhaps he would get to name an entirely new species. _Yes_, he thought. _Quagaars sounds perfect_.

_To be continued..._

A/N: The use of the phrase "massive engines" is a little in-joke ;) Those who live in the UK might get this one!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: None of the characters/places etc. in this fic belong to me. I am making no profit with this story.

A/N: And here's the second part of the fic:D I hope you're enjoying it so far! I'd like to say a big thank you to smegginitlarge and cazflibs for reviewing the story! Your comments really mean a lot to me! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as the first! I'm going to split it up into more parts now – it's going to cover more ground than I originally thought! So without further ado, let's move onto chapter two!

**-Visions-**

**Chapter Two**

Dark clouds of smoke poured from Blue Midget's engines as it rose from the landing pad. The lights in the docking bay flashed a brilliant white, indicating that it was safe to take off.

"Okay everybody," said Lister, his hands clenched tightly around the ship's controls. "Here we go!" He pulled the steering apparatus sharply forward, causing everybody to jolt backwards into their seats. Blue Midget shot speedily out of the great jaws of the cargo bay, faltered a little, and steadied itself as it drifted into space. The craft was so utterly cramped that it was difficult to move, but it did have its advantages. It was easy to control, although the steering was sensitive, and small enough to allow a great deal more manoeuvrability than Starbug's bulky frame.

"Link us up." Lister kept his eyes focused on the two pinpricks of light which were Starbug's engines. He furrowed his brow. "Let's see what the smeghead's up to." Kryten turned to the keypad and punched a number of buttons in perfect sequence. Immediately, the video screen lit up to reveal Starbug's interior.

Rimmer's gaze had been fixed on the alien craft which loomed mysteriously nearby, and he had been thinking of nothing else. Perhaps his previous judgments had been wrong. _It should be closer by now_. But the craft appeared no larger than it had a whole half hour ago. Being so preoccupied in his thoughts, it came as a great surprise to hear Lister's voice.

"Rimmer," it called from the monitor, "Rimmer, where're you going, man?" Rimmer started, and jerked his head toward the screen. Seeing who it was, his face brightened.

"Listy!" he exclaimed. "Back, are you? How was your trip?" His voice was unusually cheerful. Lister's expression, however, did not change.

"Leave it out, Rimmer," he spat. "We're on your tail. Kryten's set a course to follow you. There's no way out." Rimmer's gaze turned acid. _Why are they tracking me? _He glanced back at the alien ship, and then back at the monitor. His stomach turned. It had been this way all his life. Whenever anything was beginning to retain the slightest glimmer of hope, he was always served that same, piping hot bowl of Gazpacho Soup. He had made up his mind; he would not let it happen again.

"You want to get there first, don't you?" He felt his fist begin to clench. "The _one_ time I get a lucky break, and _you _want to steal it from me!" He thrust his finger at the screen.

"What're you talking about, Rimmer?" Lister was growing impatient. Perhaps Rimmer was more delusional than he had originally thought.

Rimmer scoffed. "Don't give me that, you curry-headed gimboid." His voice escalated into a higher pitch. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Well I'll tell you something." He stood from his chair and waved his finger at the monitor. "In all my life, I have never had a chance to live up to what my father wanted me to be; to what _I_ wanted to be. It was all very well for my brothers – rich, successful – but oh, no!" he exclaimed, "Nothing left for poor old Arnie J. This ship," he continued, "this ship gives me a chance to _be_ someone. To encounter an alien race; to be the first to contact an entirely different species. And I'm going to take that chance."

"Rimmer-" Lister started, only for the video connection to abruptly disappear. "Smeg," he sighed, "he's cut the link." He slammed his fist against the controls.

"So what do we do now?" said Cat, leaning back in his seat.

"I fear the situation is worse than we had previously imagined," Kryten replied. "If my calculations are correct, Mr Rimmer is not acting upon his own senses at all."

Cat rolled his eyes. "Tell me something I _don't_ know."

"What do you mean, Kryte?" asked Lister, turning to face the mechanoid. Rimmer's comments had indeed seemed nonsensical – the radar indicated no ships of foreign construction, and yet Rimmer seemed utterly convinced in his words. Kryten shuffled forwards.

"I believe that Mr Rimmer is witnessing what are called space mirages, sir," he explained. "This is what is what is driving him to pilot Starbug, and causing him to hallucinate the craft he described."

"Space mirages?" Lister repeated, his brow creasing.

"Yes," said Kryten. "Now, a normal mirage is caused by refraction. But space mirages are different. They prey on the emotions one experiences in space – loneliness, depression – and take the form of the object the sufferer would most like to see."

"Hence the alien ship!" said Lister, raising his hand to his forehead.

"Precisely," Kryten replied.

"So we just tell Alphabet Head he's seeing things, and get the heck outta here!" Cat seemed pleased with his deductions.

"Not so simple, sir," Kryten corrected him. "If we inform Mr Rimmer that he is in fact hallucinating, this will cause him to fall deeper into his feelings of misery, and will further accentuate the effect of the mirages."

"So what you're saying," Lister said, "is that we need to somehow convince him that what he's seeing is real?" The concept boggled Lister's mind. He was thankful that Kryten had a way of explaining things in such simplistic terms. Even Holly had struggled with that premise.

"Exactly," replied Kryten. "In order to release Mr Rimmer from the effects of the mirages, we must eliminate the emotion which is causing them. We must play along, so to speak, with his hallucinations."

_Smeg_, thought Lister, _what's he got us into now?_ Wherever Rimmer went, trouble seemed to follow. And to make things worse, he would never stand up to the consequences himself. Lister had lost count of the number of times the hologram's persistent cowardice had put both him and the rest of the crew in danger. For him, this was just one more occasion. He sighed, "So, Kryten, any ideas?"

"Just one, sir," the mechanoid answered. "But I don't think you're going to like it."

* * *

Rimmer was poring over Starbug's radar. He would pace to one end of the control room, turn on his heels and walk back, each time expecting to see the "blip" of an alien craft appear on the screen. But there was nothing save for a tiny speck of green - Blue Midget, steadily tracking Starbug's path. Rimmer wished it away. Deep down, what remained of his hope told him that maybe they would give up, let him be. But the resounding voice of bitterness once again prevailed, silencing any thoughts of good fortune. They would not give up tracking him. They would not give him this opportunity. _They wanted it for themselves_.

He was so deeply entwined in his own thoughts that he was unaware of his teeth beginning to clench. His brow was deeply furrowed, his face twisted into a scowl. He would have pounded the control desk, were it not for the fact that his fist would have fallen right through it. Instead he strode to Holly's screen.

"Holly, what's wrong with the radar?" he asked, his voice tinged with impatience. Holly let out a computerised sigh. Her glance turned upwards.

"Nothing, Arn," she said. "The radar is fully operational." Rimmer jerked his head to look back at the machine. There was no reading, and yet he could still see the alien craft, there, just out of reach. He scoffed.

"Yes, well it might be, Holly, if operational happens to mean _'doesn't work'_." He took a seat in front of the main window, buried his head in his hands and groaned: a long, deep, remorseful sound. Holly tried again.

"Everything on this ship works, Arnold," she said. "Radar, lights, engines…even the machine that puts the little marshmallows in your hot chocolate. _Everything works_."

"Well," he spluttered, evidently bereft of a suitable comeback, "check it again. There's a ship the size of an asteroid out there and it hasn't even registered." He cast his gaze back to the radar. It took his mind a second to realise what he was seeing. Something was moving. "Holly," he inquired, "what's going on?" With each circle of the sensory equipment, Blue Midget appeared to edge further and further away from them, until it was barely in visible range.

"Well don't ask me why, Arn," Holly replied, "but they're turning around!" Her voice exuded genuine surprise. "They're heading back to Red Dwarf!" Rimmer slapped both his palms across his legs, stood from his seat and beamed a wide grin of satisfaction.

"They've given up!" he exclaimed. "I've outwitted them! And they said I wouldn't make a good general." He adjusted his hat and assumed a suitably noble posture. "Leave it to the winners, that's what I say."

"Well in that case, we'd better turn back too," Holly said dryly. Rimmer shot her a defensive look, his expression of pride rapidly deflated.

"I'll have you know," he said, "that I received quite a few awards back in my boarding school days." He paused, his mind deep in reminiscence. "I remember this one time; it was the final of the junior one hundred metre hurdles race. The finest young athletes in the school, all lined up, ready to pit themselves against each other in a daring display of physical prowess. Unfortunately, this was one week after my ill-fated encounter with the septic tank. Nobody came near me for days." He sucked in a short, thoughtful breath. "Nevertheless, I turned up. Porky Roebuck had given me a replacement pair of shoes to compensate for the ones he'd destroyed; I was wary, but I trusted him. What I regrettably failed to notice," Rimmer held his hands loosely around his back, and began to pace towards the front of the craft, "is that they were in fact rocket-powered jet boots, which he'd undoubtedly nicked from the school store cupboard. One flick of the controls and I was catapulted across the sports field faster than you can say 'Napoleon Bonaparte'. My heels were wedged so firmly into the ground on landing that they had to prise me out with a crowbar." He looked back at Holly. "I won a gold medal for that."

Holly had struggled to pay attention to Rimmer's lengthy account, but was genuinely perplexed at his last remark. "How'd you win the hurdles when you didn't jump any of 'em?" she asked.

"I didn't," Rimmer replied. "I won the javelin."

As if on cue, the main console began to beep, and one of the buttons flashed a bright red. Holly looked at Rimmer. "We're getting a signal." She paused to process its origin. "It's from Red Dwarf." Rimmer smirked.

"Ah," he said, raising his finger to his lips, "come to apologise, have they?" His mind relished in the thought of savouring the spoils of this most delicious situation. He lowered the microphone from the rim of his hat. "Punch it up."

The screen lit up to reveal the bunkroom in which Lister was standing. He held a can of Leopard Lager in his right hand. Grinning, he raised it to the monitor. Rimmer's smirk melted away as he saw the expression on his shipmate's face.

"What are you so happy about?" he asked angrily. He could hide none of his bitterness at the denial of a perfect chance to gloat.

Lister chuckled, taking a sip of the lager, and Rimmer watched with disgust as it spilt from the can and trickled down his chin. "We've made contact," he said, wiping the froth from his mouth.

"Made contact with _what_, you goit?" Rimmer hissed, his voice growing ever tenser. Lister was clearly enjoying the ambiguity of his statement. He moved closer to the screen. Despite being so far apart, Rimmer could almost smell the alcohol on his breath.

"The aliens," he replied. Rimmer's eyes widened.

"_What?_" he spluttered. "But _how?_ That's impossible!" He racked his brain for some sort of reason, some explanation that would turn the situation in his favour. A thought suddenly dawned on him. _What if they'd tried to make contact when I'd cut the link?_ He bit his lip. Once again, things were beginning to turn against him. He gazed out of the main window. The alien ship was still there, just as before. But he had seen no scout crafts, no pods; nothing had shown up on the radar. _How did they pass without detection? _Lister could see the bewilderment on the hologram's face.

"They beamed on board a few minutes ago," he explained. "They sent us a signal on board Blue Midget." He took another sip from the can and grinned. Rimmer scowled in response.

"Fan-smegging-_tastic_," he spat, turning away from the monitor, his hands on his hips. "I leave the link down for ten minutes and this is what happens." He turned back around. "Obviously they're more interested in Indian cuisine than what I have to offer."

Lister tried desperately to stifle his laugh. "What's that then?" Rimmer shuffled nervously for a moment before waving his hand dismissively at the screen.

"It…doesn't matter," he said hurriedly, brushing off the question. "I don't have time for this." He glanced to Holly's monitor. "Take us back to Red Dwarf."

A/N: Please RR:D All reviews are much appreciated!


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